


like a lifeline thrown

by puppyblue



Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Dimension Travel, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Low Chaos Daud, Order of the Phoenix AU, Sirius Black Lives, The Ministry Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppyblue/pseuds/puppyblue
Summary: In which supernatural assassins trump dark wizards, stopping time is a terribly useful talent to have, and Daud is Not Amused.





	1. fight, flight, freeze

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: ideas were borrowed from both the Harry Potter and the Dishonored universes. Some lines are taken directly from the Order of the Phoenix. Basically, if you recognize it, it isn't mine.

_“Now!”_

Five _reductos_ shot out from behind Harry, exploding against the prophecy shelves. The spheres burst, raining down glass and unfurling ghostly figures into the air, and the shelves swayed precariously.

He reached back and grabbed the robes of the closest person – who turned out to be Hermione. “Run!”

They lunged past the shouting Death Eaters, dodging hands and spells along the way. His ears rang with the noise – the crashing and thunder and yelling – but the way ahead was clear and he ran for it, catching sight of Ginny, Ron, and Luna dashing away as well.

They reached the end of the row and turned right, sprinting in earnest now. Harry could see the door they had come through ahead of them and he lengthened his stride.

Then he yelped, stumbling to the right as a spell hissed right by his ear and collided with the door itself, which slammed violently shut. He felt Hermione twist out of his grip, heard her voice call out, “ _Stupefy_!”

There was a thud behind them, but Harry didn’t look back. He hit the door hard, rattling the handle. It refused to budge, even when he gasped out, “ _Alohomora_!”

“Harry –” He heard Neville gasp behind him, and then another thud.

He twisted around and found Hermione standing over yet another Death Eater, wand out and terror bright in her eyes as more Death Eaters rounded the corner at the other end of the row.  

“Find another door!” She hissed, and ran to the left, around the edges of the room.

Harry caught up with her, Neville right behind him. “If the others went that way –"

“We’ll have to find them later!”

They came across the next door – this one opened easily and they hurtled through it, slamming it behind them.

 _“Colloportus!”_ Hermione wheezed, and the door sealed itself with an odd squelching noise.

They stood there for a moment, panting. Malfoy high voice echoed through the door, shouting orders and assigning pairs of Death Eaters to search together.

“What do we do?” Neville whispered.

“Well, we don’t stand around waiting for them to find us, for a start.” Harry said back. “Let’s get away from this door.”

He turned to lead the way and stopped, startled – behind him, he heard Hermione’s quick intake of breath.

The room itself wasn’t particularly impressive; the floor and walls were the same grey stone as the veil room, and it was empty except for a pedestal in the middle, with a large, grey stone bowl resting on the top that reminded Harry a bit of a pensieve.

Whatever was in the bowl, though, was definitely different from memories. It looked like it might be liquid; light danced along the walls, shimmering like a reflection despite the fact that there was no light source to reflect from. The color of both light and liquid changed every few seconds – green and gold, blue and black, splashing over the walls like a mural.

Even as he thought it, the light seemed to twist into pictures, playing along the walls in quick, short bursts. Here was a woman and a girl, walking through the deep green to the tall stones – and there was a man with scars on his back and fire in his hands – and then he was looking into a night sky, dark and shifting like a deep and endless void –

Harry tore himself out of his stupor, blinking, and forced himself to move as the pictures dissolved back into light. There were more doors on the opposite walls, and he headed for the nearest one, snagging Neville’s sleeve along the way. Hermione and Neville jumped when he moved, shaking out of their own dazes and turning to follow him.

Too late. Heavy footsteps sounded from the hall outside, and something large and heavy collided with the sealed door – they’d only been standing still for a few seconds, but it had clearly been a few seconds too long.

Harry bolted across the room, knowing it wasn’t enough, even as a rough voice spoke outside the door. “Get out of the way. _Alohomora!_ ”

When he heard the door open, Harry threw himself to the side. It took him further away from the next door, but the instinctive action was rewarded when a spell whizzed by, scorching the wood of the door.

He heard Hermione shout a spell as he rolled and leaped up, passing Neville, who had clearly dived too and was now struggling to regain his feet. Hermione's spell dissolved as the Death Eater deflected it, but Harry sent his own as the man dropped his shield. “ _Stupefy!”_

The man, too slow to react, fell easily to the stone floor, but the second Death Eater was still outside the doorway, bellowing out into the prophecy hall. “ _We’ve got him!_ We’ve got Potter here –”

“ _Silencio!_ ” Hermione cried.

The man’s voice cut off, but the spell had alerted him – he dodged Harry’s next stunner and darted into the room, three other Death Eaters only a few seconds behind him. He sent a streak of purple flying at Hermione with a slash of his wand. She slipped out of the way just in time, nearly tripping over herself, and the spell went flying past her shoulder.

It hit the pedestal with an audible _crack_ , sending stone dust into the air as the pillar splintered.

They all paused for a split second, watching the pedestal wobble and tip. The bowl tipped with it, the strange liquid inside seeming to fall slower than it should. Just before it hit the ground, it shimmered from a deep red to luminescent blue swirled with eerie purple.

Then it touched stone and it was no longer just liquid falling; a figure exploded out of the purple and blue, sending droplets everywhere and rolling as it hit the ground. More shapes came tumbling after the first, falling through the pouring substance, seemingly from nowhere.

By the time all the liquid hit the floor, there were five more people in the room.

The figures were definitely man-shaped – they were almost identical, dressed in heavy, dark coats, their faces covered in strange masks. They seemed unaffected by their fall; all of them rolling through it, coming out in crouches or entirely upright, and they came together at once, facing defensively out against the rest of the room as they gathered around one man.

He was, Harry thought, the first one that had come out of whatever strange occurrence the Death Eater’s spell had caused. It was easy to tell – his coat was bright red, distinctive against the greyish colors of the others, and his face, lined and scarred, was bare of any mask. He had one gloved clenched in front of him strangely, while the other clasped a sleek, gleaming sword.

The three groups stared at each other, frozen in a long moment of surprise.

Harry glanced desperately at Hermione, halfway across the room, but she looked as lost as he felt. Confusion was just as clear in the Death Eaters’ postures and the man’s sharp frown; he was assessing the room with quick flicks of his eyes and Harry met his gaze for a short, breathless second.

“Aurors!” One of the Death Eaters yelped suddenly, breaking the stand-off, and he sent a spell at the head of the red-garbed man.

It was a mistake.

The man vanished. There was no crack of apparition or any hint of a spell; a hiss of air, a flash of darkness, and he was gone. His men followed suit right on his heels, shimmering out and letting the spell die out harmlessly on the stone wall and then –

The room exploded into chaos as the men blinked back into existence right on top of the Death Eaters, sending them sprawling with shouts of surprise. All the new men had swords drawn now, though it seemed they didn’t need to use them.

Two Death Eaters were pulled back by their necks, thrashing weakly against implacable choke holds. The other two managed to get off a few spells as they backpedaled, but the newcomers seemed to expect it now – they vanished out of the way, quick and fluid, reappearing closer. Harry heard a disturbing _snap_ of bone and a howl as a wand clattered to the ground.

“Come on, Harry!” Neville’s voice broke through. He was standing at the door they’d tried to reach earlier – it was open now, showing yet another dark room beyond it. Harry backed up slowly, keeping a careful eye on Hermione, who was quickly skirting the edge of the fight to get across to them.

But it wasn’t to be – one of the men in grey, without an opponent to fight, caught her movement and sprang after her, catching her by her wand arm. Harry raised his wand, a furious spell on his lips, but the other men were done with the Death Eaters now. They left them sprawled across the floor, vanishing again, and Harry’s spell came out a grunt as his wrist went numb and he dropped his wand.

He had barely registered that someone had hit him when an arm wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides and pulling him back against a man's chest. Before he could fight, or even think, the man had a sword pressed to his throat. Harry froze instinctively, his blood rushing in his ears and beating against the thin line of pressure on his skin, the cold, sharp metal making his skin crawl.

There was something about the touch of steel at his throat that felt imminently more threatening than a wand, even if it made no sense.

There was a small scuffing noise, and Neville was pulled up next to him in a similar position as the man holding Hermione stepped in close as well. The man in red – the only one still by the motionless Death Eaters – stood up from where he was crouching, several wands in his hands. He tucked them into his pockets and approached, his sword pointed down and his boots silent on the stone. 

He looked them over, sharp-eyed, lingering on their robes and Gryffindor patches. Then, just as Harry managed to get his courage together enough to speak – though what he would say, he didn't know – the man said, "Where are we?"

His voice was low and harsh, scraping in his throat like sandpaper and his accent was flat, with an odd, foreign edge to it that Harry couldn’t place. Together with a deep scar that barely missed one eye and his severe, uncompromising features, he was imposing enough that Harry had to force himself not to press into the man behind him.

He pulled in a breath, but Hermione beat him to it, volunteering cautiously, "You’re in the Department of Mysteries…”

"And _what_ is the Department of Mysteries?" He turned to her, hulking and predatory, and she jumped.

"It's... a research department that conducts confidential experiments for the Ministry of Magic." She squeaked, clearly falling back on her textbooks. “Which is where you are, I mean. The Ministry of Magic, in London.”

"A Ministry of Magic?" One of the other men murmured, and he sounded so bemused that Harry met Hermione’s eyes in alarm. They’d used magic, he’d _seen_ them –

“Is _London_ a city?” Another asked dubiously, and Hermione’s eyes went wider.

"Yes…in Britain?" She tried and then, very tentatively, "Europe?"

"Never heard of it." Their leader replied, and Harry had never felt so much dangerous tension from a man whose face was still so very calm.

“The Death Eaters did something,” He blurted, ignoring the sword that dug into his neck muscles as they shifted, trying to draw the man’s attention away from Hermione. It worked, and he found himself squarely in the man’s heavy gaze. “They knocked something over – that pedestal, over there – and it threw you out here. We didn’t have anything to do with it.”

The man stared at him a moment longer – assessing, perhaps, and Harry did his best to look truthful. Then he turned and made his way to the fallen pedestal.

The spilled liquid had retained its color – all shades of blues and purples – though parts of it were now glowing a luminescent blue-white. The leader leaned in cautiously to look at it, prodding it with his boot. His nose wrinkled, but he looked thoughtful rather than disbelieving.

“Sir?” The man holding Harry asked; his voice was distorted and metallic through the odd mask as he shifted against Harry’s back. The leader looked up.

“It could have been a doorway to the Void, once. I've seen stranger ones.” He said, all of which made very little sense to Harry. “Some of that’s definitely whale oil, but this sort of witchcraft has never been my talent.”

He stalked back over to the group, frowning at all three of the students. “It’s fairly clear you’re not supposed to be in this area either. Which, I suppose, means you’d have no idea how to get us back?”

 _Back where?_ Harry wondered, but now didn’t seem the time to ask.

“I…no, this is beyond…” Hermione started, and then swallowed, starting over. “You’d have to find an Unspeakable. They’re the only ones who would know what the experiment was for…”

“…the fuck is an Unspeakable?” Someone muttered behind him, and the man holding Harry snorted.

“Well, she can’t tell you, Rinaldo, honestly,” He said, his voice very arch, “because it’s… _unspeakable_.”

They both fell silent at a sharp glance from the man in red.

“So, you don’t know.” He summarized flatly, glancing between Hermione and Harry, and something about him was now almost dismissive.

 _You’re not useful_ , his expression seemed to say and, to Harry, ‘not useful’ seemed a risky thing to be when someone was holding a knife to his throat.

“ _We_ don’t, but we know someone who _could_.” Harry said, speaking before he could think too hard about it. “He knows more than most people about magic, and he’s got friends everywhere. He’ll be able to help, if anyone can.”

Even with his anger at the headmaster this year, Dumbledore was still who Harry thought of first when it came to strange magical problems like this. He was ignoring, of course, that they had no idea where Dumbledore was and no way to contact him, but they’d cross that bridge when they got there.

He caught Hermione’s sharp glance, the one that clearly asked him what he thought he was doing. He didn’t quite know himself, but even if his instincts had been what gotten them into trouble in the first place, he was used to leaping when the idea seemed right.

“What are you proposing, then?” The man asked, his gaze intent.

“We lost a few of our friends, running from _them_.” Harry said, jerking his head at the slumped Death Eater. Were they even still alive? He couldn’t tell. “And there’re more of them still hunting us. So, if you help us find our friends, and get away from the Death Eaters, we’ll get Dumbledore to help you go back to wherever you were.”

“Seems a bit uneven,” The man mused; his voice was almost casual, but his eyes were still unblinkingly fixed on Harry. “us, fighting for you when _possible_ help is all you can promise.”

“It’s better than going it on your own. You’re not from here; you won’t know the right people to talk to, and you’ll probably have to fight a few Death Eaters to get out anyway.” Harry pursued doggedly, growing more certain with every word. “You help us, you’ll have a lot of people who owe you – at the very least, it’ll get you home faster than you’d manage otherwise.”

There was a moment of very tense silence, where Harry hoped fervently that he hadn’t made a mistake. Then the leader smiled, a sharp, small uptick at the corner of his lips that Harry swore was approving. “Deal. Our help for yours.”

The person behind Harry released him and he stumbled forward a step, rubbing his throat. He saw Hermione doing the same as she fumbled to pick up her wand and he bent down to pick up his own, sidling closer to her and Neville.

The men drew away, though; three padded back to the downed Death Eaters and started checking their pockets, though Harry didn’t know what they were hoping for. The other joined the leader, starting a quick, hushed conference. They seemed to be purposefully turning their attention elsewhere, letting him regroup with his friends, and Harry breathed just a little easier as the heavy tension in the room relaxed.

“Are you sure about this, Harry?” Neville whispered, very quietly. Hermione stared at him from Neville’s other side, looking just as worried.

“Not at all.” Harry muttered back. “But it’s better to have them as friends than enemies, right? I don’t think we can take them _and_ the Death Eaters.”

Neville still looked worried, but Hermione nodded, her mouth tight. Harry glanced behind him. The man in red was listening to one of the others speak – he kept his voice low, but Harry picked up scattered words as he strained his ears.

“…doing…know that Stride…Brigmore…”

“Stride will wait. She owes us twice over.” The leader replied, not bothering to keep his voice down. Then he looked straight at Harry, though he was seemingly unconcerned with his blatant eavesdropping, and tilted his head. “The men you’re fighting – Death Eaters, you called them?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, watching him carefully. “That’s what everyone calls them, anyway."

“How dramatic.” One of the men snorted as he finished rifling through pockets.

“I hardly think we’re in a position to point too many fingers.” The man beside the leader interjected dryly.

“Ours is thematically appropriate!” The other protested –the one who had been behind him, Harry thought, judging by his voice, and his suspicions were proven when the man turned to him, wandering closer. “Sorry about the sword, by the way. We weren’t planning on actually killing you, but it seemed better to be safe than sorry.”

This didn’t feel as reassuring as the man seemed to think it should, but Harry nodded uncomfortably.

“Did you kill _them_ , then?” Hermione asked behind him, and Harry glanced back to see her indicating the Death Eaters, a complicated expression on her face.

“No, still alive.” The man said with an easy shrug. “We’re trying not to kill _anyone_ now, if we can help it. It’s sort of a…thing.”

Hermione nodded, her expression still odd, and Harry sympathized. He wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or not, considering it was Death Eaters they were talking about. Besides, their new friends still seemed a little too comfortable with the idea of offing people.

“I’m Rulfio; those are Rinaldo and Jenkins.” The man told them, pointing out the two who had just finished prodding the Death Eaters. “The grumpy bastard in red is Daud, and that’s Thomas next to him.”

Daud gave Rulfio a rather flat stare, but didn’t seem to particularly care about the disrespect. He and Thomas had finished speaking, it seemed, and were pacing slowly over to join them.

“I’d say you got lucky,” Rulfio told them cheerfully. “If you had to grab any five Whalers, this is a pretty damn good selection.”

“Whalers?” Hermione asked, looking a bit baffled.

“Well, yes, with the…” He pulled a bit at his clothes, as though it was obvious.

It was a uniform, really, now that Harry thought about it, as all the others were practically identical. They all wore the masks (gas masks, he finally remembered, or something close to it) along with thick, heavy coats and trousers – though they weren’t all grey. Rulfio’s coat was closer to dark blue, Harry realized as he looked closer, and though it was difficult to tell with the others in the low light of the room, he thought Thomas was the same.

The style of the coats was the same, though, and they all wore crisscrossed belts and leather straps that held a large amount of odd-looking objects and pouches. Even Daud, the largest deviation from the norm, was visibly similar in most aspects.

Harry still didn’t know what that had to do with whales, though.

“Never mind. You probably have something different here.” Rulfio sighed, when they showed no signs of comprehension. “What are we calling you, then?”

“Oh, right…this is Hermione and Neville. I’m Harry.” Harry tried uncertainly. “There’re three of us missing, as well. Ron, Ginny, and Luna.”

“How many of these men are we facing?” One of the grey Whalers asked, waving his hand at the Death Eaters.

“Err…” Harry blinked, startled. “I’m not sure –”

“Sixteen.” Hermione interrupted, her voice a little more confident now. “I counted when they had us surrounded.”

“More than a squad of them against six children, and they’re struggling?” The man murmured. “Pitiful.”

Harry bristled, a bit offended, but left it alone. Daud didn’t comment, only offered Hermione a nod. “Good work.”

A quick flick of his hand got the men moving – they curved around Harry, Hermione, and Neville in a loose half-circle, their swords resting easy in their hands.

Harry felt Hermione shift nervously beside him, but Daud didn’t give any orders, only stared at them expectantly. “So where do we find your missing three?”

Harry exchanged glances with the others, and Neville finally spoke up, his voice not quite steady. “We got separated when we were running earlier. We don’t know which way they went.”

“The department is interconnected,” Hermione hastened to add, even though Daud’s expression hadn’t changed at all, “and there’s only one exit. If they haven’t been caught, that’s where they’ll go.”

“I was wondering if you had a tongue, boy.” Daud said idly, making Neville startle. Then he turned back to Harry and Hermione. “One of you take the lead. You know the environment better.”

They didn’t, really, but they weren’t about to say that. Harry glanced at Hermione and then took a step towards the door Neville had opened. Daud fell in with him, half a step behind and to the side, and Harry heard Hermione and Neville tuck in close behind them. The other men walked silently, but when Harry glanced back he found them following along, guarding the back and sides of their small group. They still made him nervous, but something about the added numbers was reassuring nonetheless.

The room next to them looked to be only an office, a tight, dark space filled with desks and dust, but the next door along led to a hallway. Harry walked quickly, nervous and jittery, but not wanting to risk the noise and the energy running would take. The short hallway opened into the glittering time room and Harry breathed a soft sigh of relief. It was cut short as a hand clenched in his robes, jerking him back before he could step through the doorway.

He glanced back at Daud in surprise and found him, strangely, staring straight at the wall of the hallway, but the older man glanced at him and shook his head once, definitively. Harry stayed quiet and let him pull the door most of the way shut.

Then he heard it, the growing patter of footsteps that indicated someone approaching. He held his breath, willing himself not to call out for Ron or the others; behind him, he felt Hermione reach forward and grip his hand tightly.

There was the sound of the door opening, with at least two people bursting into the room. Then, a man’s voice, “No, damn it, we’ve been this way already.”

“I’m telling you, they must have made it through – ” Another started, but he was cut off abruptly, and the next sound they heard was the thump of something heavy hitting the floor.

Harry startled, but Daud simply shouldered the door open, revealing Rulfio and Thomas doing a quick search of two more unconscious Death Eaters. He glanced behind him, surprised that he hadn’t even noticed them vanishing, and saw Rulfio, the taller and bulkier of the two, tucking two more wands into his pockets when he turned back.

“That’s seven.” One of the men muttered – Rinaldo, Harry thought, remembering his voice from earlier. “At least nine still moving around, then.”

“What if they revive each other, though?” Neville asked and Harry stopped short in surprise.

The Whalers turned as one to stare at them.

“They can do that?” Rulfio asked, sounding a mix between surprised and envious.

“You might have mentioned.” Daud’s voice, in contrast, was an irritated growl.

“We didn’t think about it; we’re not in fights like this often.” Hermione was pale, but she raised her chin in the face of Daud’s censure. “But you’ve been taking their wands – I saw you earlier. Most wizards don’t learn physical fighting, so they can’t do much without them. Even if they do wake up, they won’t be much use.”

They never learned what Daud might have said in response, because the door to the black hallway burst open. They all spun, wands and swords raised high, but the three figures that tumbled into the room were familiar.

“Ron!” Harry dashed towards them. “Ginny, Luna, are you all –”

“Harry,” said Ron, giggling weakly as he lurched forward and seized the front of Harry’s robes, gazing at him with unfocused eyes. “There you are…ha ha ha…you look funny, Harry…you’re all messed up…”

Ron’s face was very white and something dark was trickling from the corner or his mouth. A second later, his knees gave way, though he still clutched at the front of Harry’s robes. Harry started to bow forward, but then gloved hands were there, catching Ron under the arms and loosening his grip on Harry’s clothes.

Harry watched worriedly as Rulfio lowered Ron to the ground, leaning in to stare at his face and prod gently at his torso. Ron giggled and twitched, but it didn’t seem to be hurting him. Harry turned to Ginny instead. “Ginny? What happened?”

But Ginny was staring past him, wide-eyed and pale. She was slumped against the wall, her ankle held off the ground as she panted, but her wand was raised and clenched tightly in her hand. “Who are _they_?”

“It’s all right! They’re helping!” Harry reassured her, having nothing better to respond with. He glanced back to find most of the Whalers assessing the new additions warily.

A grunting noise drew his eyes back to Ron, and he found Rulfio pressing his thumbs into the red-head’s jaw, forcing his mouth open. Before he could protest, the man released him and said. “He’s bitten his tongue – the blood’s only superficial. But he’s not going to be much use, as he is.”

He wiped his hands on his trousers and turned to Ginny. “What’s wrong with you?”

Ginny just watched him and breathed shallowly, still wary, but Luna, who’d been standing by Ginny and seemed to be the only one unhurt, said softly, “I think her ankle’s broken. I heard something crack.”

They all froze for a moment as a crash sounded in a nearby room, but after a moment the noises traveled further away, and Harry turned back to Luna.

“And what about Ron?” He asked fearfully as Ron continued to giggle and mumble.

“I don’t know what they hit him with.” Luna told him sadly. “He’s gone a bit funny, though. I could hardly get him along at all.”

Harry chewed on his lip, glancing back at Hermione, but Daud suddenly moved, stalking over to Ginny and handing her a strange vial of red liquid. “Drink this – all of it. Rulfio, can you make him take any?”

“Could do,” Rulfio answered, “but I don’t think it will help. He’s not actually _injured_ , as far as I can tell.”

“Fine.” Daud nodded sharply. “Jenkins, carry him. He’s too much of a risk, otherwise.”

Ginny was staring at the vial in her hand. Harry caught her eye and nodded; uncertain himself, but willing to trust. She screwed up her face and downed it in one go, coughing a bit after. Almost immediately, she straightened up, her cheeks pinker and her eyes wide. “Oh! That’s much better.”

“Your ankle’s still broken,” Daud warned her, “but it will get you through the next few hours, and that’s what matters.”

“Here! _Ferula_.” Hermione said, hurrying forward and tapping Ginny’s ankle with her wand. White bandages sprang from nowhere, wrapping tightly around Ginny’s injury. She winced and shifted, but said nothing. “That’ll help keep it in place, at least.”

Ginny let Luna pull her upright and managed to put her weight gingerly, but successfully on her wounded leg. Harry saw Ron waving his hands in front of his own face as he dangled over Jenkins’ shoulder – he was the largest of the Whalers, and barely seemed to notice the weight.

“The exit’s over here.” Harry spoke up, and led them all into the black hallway. The door swung shut behind them, and the Whalers jumped, stepping in close and forming a defensive huddle in the middle of the room as the walls started to spin.

“They almost caught us in here earlier,” Ginny told him quietly while the doors spun, “but we got through a door before they could see us. I think they’re getting worried.”

Harry nodded to show that he’d heard, but his heart sank as he realized that Hermione’s burning crosses had faded. He blinked away the afterimage of blue flame and picked a door – he’d have a one-in-twelve chance of getting it right.

He’d chosen wrong: it was the room with the brain tank. He sighed, but before he could step back and close the door, running footsteps sounded and another door burst open across the hall. Two death eaters leapt in – they looked surprised to find themselves in company, but one reacted immediately, hollering out, “ _We’ve got them! We’ve got them, they’re here – !_ ”

Daud lashed out with one arm, sending a streak of green speeding across the room. For one heart-stopping moment, Harry thought it was the killing curse, but it hit the vocal man with a meaty _thunk_ , and he stumbled, staying upright for a moment before falling. In the time that had taken, Rinaldo had popped over to the other Death Eater, snatching his wand from behind him and choking him out with a speed that was almost frightening.

The damage had been done though – Harry could hear footsteps behind the doors around them as Death Eaters rushed to join the first. They all piled into the brain room, but as Hermione sealed the door and Ginny started across to the next one –

“Stop.” Daud barked, and they all jerked to a halt on instinct. He grabbed Harry by the shoulder, pulling him around. “Why are they chasing you?”

“What?” Harry stared at him. “Why’s that matter _now_?”

“Will they try to kill you on sight, or do they need something from you first?” Daud asked, fast, but firm. “This is important.”

Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then plunged his hands into his robe and brought out the prophecy orb. “They’re after this. They’d like to kill us, as a bonus, but they can’t risk me breaking it.”

“Perfect.” Daud said crisply, something like satisfaction in his eyes. “Follow me, all of you. Quick, now –”

They followed him at a fast trot – he pushed doors open as they passed and darted into the third one he opened, even as footsteps began to echo behind the other doors. Harry drew in a breath when he realized it was the veil room, but followed Daud down the steps to the dais.

They had just enough time – when the Death Eaters started into the room, slipping in through three different doors, they were all perched up on the dais. The prophecy was held firmly in Harry’s grasp, but he had his arms stretched out, entirely prepared to drop it.

Daud and Hermione were right next to him, with the others stretched out on either side of them. They stood shoulder to shoulder, various weapons held ready, with Ron lying down behind their feet (after Jenkins had, apparently, drugged him. Ginny had not been pleased, but it was better than letting him try to touch the fluttering veil).

The Death Eaters were more cautious now, moving slowly as they climbed down the benches and eyed the unfamiliar men. Harry raised his hands higher as they reached the bottom third of the room and they all halted, watching him.

“Made some friends, I see, Potter.” Lucius Malfoy drawled. He was near the front of the pack, eyes glittering behind his mask.

“Difficult concept, for a man who has to buy his, I bet.” Harry snapped, his heart in his throat. There hadn’t been time to discuss a plan; they’d simply followed Daud’s instructions as quickly as they’d been able. Now, he could only trust the man to pull them out of this, and hope that trust wasn’t misplaced.

He saw Malfoy glance over the Whalers, with their strangeness in dress and weapons, and then focus on Daud, his voice slickly smooth. “You’ve chosen the losing side, gentlemen, but if you leave now, perhaps Lord Voldemort will be merciful.”

Daud didn’t even seem to hear Malfoy, for all the attention he paid him. He was looking out and away, his eyes roving over the pack of Death Eaters. Or not roving, Harry realized suddenly, as Daud’s eyes stopped momentarily on each one. Assessing. _Counting_.

Harry did a lightning-fast headcount himself – more than ten – more than twelve. They must have found the five left unconscious in the room where Daud’s men had come through. Quite a few of the Death Eaters in the room were unarmed, though, clenching empty fists, and Harry felt a surge of satisfaction at the sight.

“No matter.” Malfoy hissed, sounding rather offended. Harry supposed he wasn’t used to being ignored. “We still outnumber you, Potter, whatever useless mongrels you’ve picked up. Hand over the prophecy.”

“Don’t think I will.” Harry said, stalling for time, waiting for _something_ to happen. “You’d only kill us once I gave it to you, anyway.”

“You don’t have –” Malfoy started and then, between one second and the next, he was flat on the ground, unconscious. So were all of the Death Eaters around him.

Harry blinked down the limp bodies draped over the stone benches, utterly bewildered as to how they’d gotten there. He jerked his head up at a scuffling noise in time to see Jenkins up on the stone benches, cracking one last Death Eater over the head with the hilt of his sword.

“Slow, Jenkins.” Daud’s voice admonished, and Harry looked to find him and the rest of the Whalers off to the side of the room, the last few Death Eaters piled at their feet.

“Sorry, sir.” Jenkins said, his voice low and rumbling as he climbed down the steps. “I’ll work on it.”

“What did you _do_?” Ginny asked, sounding close to awe.

“Stopped time for a bit.” Daud explained simply. He pulled another vial from his coat - blue, this time - and drank it himself, as the Whalers behind him filched the rest of the Death Eater’s wands. “Just wanted to get as many as I could into the same room first. More efficient.”

“Stopped time?” Hermione sounded like her head was going to burst. Harry just stared, confused, but with a slowly growing delight that had a strong basis in relief. “That’s not – _how?_ Do you have –”

“Perhaps not the best time for this discussion.” Thomas interjected. “We’re missing a few here.”

Harry glanced over the Death Eaters again, more slowly now that the threat wasn’t imminent. Thirteen out of Hermione’s earlier observation of sixteen.

“The last two we took out earlier aren’t here.” Rulfio said, and Harry assumed he meant the ones in the time room. “Don’t know about the other one, though.”

“Bellatrix Lestrange.” Neville said, and Harry realized he was right. Neville had his wand gripped tight in his hand, his jaw clenched. Daud glanced at him once, up and down, but didn’t ask after the source of the tension.

“Assuming they're awake, they’ve either left, or they’re hunting elsewhere. At the very least, it will take them a while to wake everyone here, and they’ll need to find them first.” Daud said. “Which should give us more than enough time.”

They all hopped down off the dais with relief, Harry tucking the prophecy back into his pocket. Now that his pulse wasn’t drowning everything out, he could hear the whispers starting again and did his best not to get pulled in. Jenkins scooped Ron back up and they moved off, Daud taking the lead and beckoning everyone into a quick jog.

They clambered up the stone steps until they reached the brain room again. Jenkins and Rinaldo slowed, staring at the tank now that they weren’t being chased, but Thomas hissed words at them, urging them on to the main hallway.

Just before they entered, though, a sound echoed from the room they’d just left, loud enough that they all stopped. Harry didn’t know whether it had been footsteps, a door, or even words, but even though they all listened hard for a moment, nothing else happened.

“You think one of the others found them already?” Neville asked quietly.

“Should we go back and take care of it, sir?” Thomas added, just as quietly.

Daud frowned, but shook his head. “Leave it. Let’s get out while we have the chance.”

They spilled back into the black hallway and the doors spun again, blurring the blue candelabra flame and leaving them thoroughly disoriented.

“This again.” Daud snarled, as though he’d forgotten, as the blank doors came to a stop. “ _Which one’s the exit?_ ”

It was as though the room had been waiting for them to ask – a door sprang open to their right, revealing the torch-lit corridor leading to the lifts. They all stared at the opening for a moment. Then Harry jumped as Daud twisted to stare at him. “Really?”

He stared back, with hysterical, out-of-place laughter bubbling up in his throat. Out of everything that had happened, this was what threw him off?

“Some doors like to be asked.” Luna answered him, smiling at him brightly.

The look Daud gave them spoke volumes about what he thought of their sanity, but then he shook his head and they were off again. The men surrounding them ran like they fought – silent and focused, moving as a unit that didn’t need to speak. Daud kept the lead, so Harry fixed his eyes on the red of his coat and tried to make his footsteps quieter.

They reached the lifts soon enough, and though the Whalers gave it dubious looks, they all piled inside and pressed the button for the Atrium. They stayed huddled together, lingering wariness still in the air – Harry found himself pressing ever so slightly against Daud’s shoulder as exhaustion started to creep around the edges, but the older man didn’t bother moving.

“Was that it?” Ginny whispered as the lift jangled higher and they caught their breath. “Are we done?”

Harry met Hermione’s gaze where she and Neville were still standing with their wands out, and then Daud’s, dark and unreadable as the man glanced at him. Ron was still lolling over Jenkins’ shoulder and Ginny was leaning on her good leg, but somehow, miraculously, they’d all made it out alive.

“I think so,” He said, and that was when his scar exploded in pain.

Harry gasped, his knees buckling at the roiling fury that seared through his head, a fury that most certainly wasn’t his own. Someone planted a hand in the middle of his chest, pinning him upright against the wall of the lift. He leaned most of his weight there and screwed his eyes up as the pain continued to build up to blinding heights.

There were voices around him, conversation that he didn’t bother trying to listen to, and then someone was forcing his mouth open, something cold resting on his lips. He opened his mouth and almost choked – the liquid that poured in was _vile_ , chalky and bitter, and it slid down his throat like slime.

And it dulled his headache immediately, cooling his burning scar down to a mere ache.

Harry blinked his watering eyes open in shock; he could still feel Voldemort’s anger, and the pain that came with it, but it was muted now. It lapped in waves at the cool relief in his head, but, for now, it was held at bay.

“Harry? What is it?” Neville asked him, and he glanced up. Everyone had gathered around him and they were now watching him warily. Daud, who had been holding him against the wall, removed his hand and Harry scrambled to get his feet properly back under him. He caught sight of Thomas slipping an empty vial back into his belt as he did.

“He’s furious.” He panted, rubbing at his scar fitfully. It was hard to tell through the wave of emotion, but…Harry stared up at the ceiling of the lift. “I think… I think he’s _here_.”

The effect on his friends was immediate. Eyes widened, faces paled, and he was certain all of them were gripping their wands tight enough to hurt. The Whalers, though, clearly didn’t understand the significance.

“This one’s worse than the others, then?” Rinaldo asked, far too unconcerned.

“ _Worse?_ ” Ginny repeated, incredulous, but Harry butted in impatiently.

“Listen.” He drew everyone’s attention back to him. “I’ve got what he wants, and he’ll want to kill me first anyway. If you can get to the exit while he’s distracted –”

The protests were immediate – Ginny and Hermione were both yelling at him, while Neville shook his head and Thomas crossed his arms. Daud and Luna simply looked at him with identical, oddly blank expressions.

The lift chimed. “Level eight, Atrium.”

They all immediately fell silent, twisting to face the opening grilles; Harry gripped his wand tightly, his heart in his throat.

For one short, hopeful moment, Harry thought the hall was empty. But then came the sounds – hitched breathing and quietly sobbed words. “I am sorry, Master…I could not…I tried…”

“Hush, Bella.” And the hairs on Harry’s neck stood on end as Voldemort’s high, cold voice echoed across the hall. “It seems Potter has not escaped after all.”

He could see them now, half-hidden in the gloom at the far end of the Atrium. Bellatrix was a shuddering pile of robes at Voldemort’s feet, while the wizard himself pointed a wand in their direction, his white, snakelike face turned towards them.

He thought he could hear Hermione’s breath hitching behind him. Someone fisted a hand tightly in the back of his robes; he didn’t dare look back to find out who.

Harry saw Voldemort’s slit-pupiled, merciless red eyes examine the group, catching on the Whalers’ masks and lingering on their swords. Something like a sneer curled his lipless mouth and he turned his attention back to Harry, who could feel his headache throbbing just beneath the surface, waiting to pounce.

“Yet again, my Death Eaters have proven themselves incompetent. They would have let you escape with the Prophecy entirely.” Voldemort said softly. “But this ends here, Potter. You have irked me too often, for too long. _Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry hadn’t been expecting it so soon. His mind was blank as the bolt of green shot towards him, his wand useless in his hand, but he felt a pull on his robes and then –

_black endless coldcoldcold_

_–_ they reappeared behind the fountain, crouching behind the ridiculous golden figures. Harry heard the others shift out of the air behind him, heard his friends’ rasping breaths and the soft shifting of the Whalers' leather boots.

“Go,” Harry gasped as quietly as he could, trying to struggle to his feet. “It’s _me_ he’s after; you can get the others across the hall –”

Daud cuffed him across the side of his head. Harry wobbled, dropping back to sit on the floor, and the man snarled at him. “Shut up and _stay down_."

He hissed an order at the others that Harry didn’t catch, flicked his hand in a series of quick, short signals, and then all the Whalers disappeared as one.

A split second later, he heard a _roar_ of absolute rage; a corresponding spike of pain made him clutch his forehead in consternation. He peeked over the edge of the fountain, between the shining golden statues, and felt the others gather behind them to do the same.

Voldemort was _staggering_ – he stumbled to the side even as they watched, but he caught himself and stood straight, wavering slightly. His face had a distinctly greenish cast, but he had fire in both of his hands, spiraling up around him in skinny whips of flame that prevented anyone from getting too close.

The Whalers bounded around Voldemort easily; they flashed in and out of existence, dodging as he sent lashes of fire at them, and circled in closer, looking very much like wolves trying to take down dangerous prey. A spell from the side caught one of them in the leg and he went down, hard. Harry looked and found Bellatrix, her lips drawn back in a crazed grimace, her wand raised for another spell.

“Stupefy!” Neville shouted beside him, his wand poking out over the fountain’s edge, and his spell caught Bellatrix directly in the side.

“Good shot, Neville!” Ginny said approvingly and Harry nudged him with shoulder, but a warning shout from one of the men brought their attention back to the battlefield.

Harry flinched, scrambling back in horror, because Voldemort had apparently seen their interference – there was a ball of roaring flame blaring across the polished wood floors towards them, higher and wider than a person was tall. He raised his wand, a _protego_ on his lips, hoping and praying it would be enough.

“ _Aquastos!_ ” Hermione shrieked, dragging her wand upwards with what looked like a physical effort, and Harry _felt_ the power of the spell, leaning towards the draw in spite of himself.

The water in the fountain thrashed, roiling skyward and curving away from them until it had formed a gigantic, solid-looking shield between them and the flames. Harry barely had time to hope it would hold before fire and water collided, and the world went white with steam.

Harry felt a brief flare of heat, but that was all – then he simply felt wet as the steam hissed and billowed out across the hall. Despite the thickness of it, though, he could still see the others next to him. He reached out, grabbing Hermione’s arm and glancing at them all. “Are you all okay?”

Hermione nodded, though her eyes looked heavy and she was starting to sway slightly where she sat. Neville, Ginny, and Luna answered in the affirmative, though, and Harry looked to find Ron still sleeping peacefully below the fountain’s edge.

The Atrium was silent. 

Harry peered around the fountain, worried. The steam was still thick in the air, and he couldn’t see anyone moving at all. He held his breath and thought for a moment; calling out was a risk, but Voldemort already knew where they were hiding. If he’d won, they would probably have already known.

“Daud?” Harry called cautiously, the name strange on his tongue. “Thomas?”

“We’re all right.” That was Rulfio’s voice, and Harry slumped with relief. He clambered out from behind the fountain and made his way towards the middle of the hall, the others following along behind him. As they got closer and the steam cleared away, the men came into view. Most of them were upright, though Jenkins was struggling up from the ground by the wall where Bellatrix’s spell had downed him and Rinaldo was swaying.

Daud was leaning over, one hand braced against his knee; as Harry got closer he could see that the man was out of breath, and there were beads of sweat tracing down his temple. What drew Harry’s eye, though, was the figure at his feet.

Even in unconsciousness, his pale skin still tinted green, Voldemort was rather horribly sinister. But his eyes were closed and his muscles were entirely limp; Harry couldn’t feel anything in his scar even as he stepped up right next to Daud and looked down at the Dark Lord at their feet.

There was something rising in Harry’s chest, something that made his hands shake, and the air in his lungs feel full and sweet. He swallowed.

“ _Stupefy._ _Incarcerous_.” Ginny said, and Harry jumped as a bolt of red hit Voldemort in the chest and ropes wrapped around him. She shrugged when he looked at her. “Better to be safe.”

“I thought you said they couldn’t do magic without these.” Thomas said neutrally to Hermione, and Harry felt a spark of surprise at the long, twisted stick of pale wood in his hands.

“Most can’t, but Voldemort _is_ one of the most powerful wizards in the world. The rules don’t always apply there.” Hermione said, apologetic. “And even he couldn’t work spells – he only had elemental magic left.”

“Well, the fire was bad enough.” Rinaldo groused, one arm held close to his side. “I thought we were safe after Thomas grabbed the stick from him – could have done without the surprise.”

“Yeah, I’ll admit.” Jenkins agreed, panting and leaning against the wall with one leg held entirely off the ground. “That one _was_ a bit worse than the others.”

There was a clatter behind them and nearly everyone flinched – another lift was rising up from the floors below.

Harry groaned, torn between frustration and dread – it seemed like the night was never going to end. Still, he swallowed it down and stepped forward, placing himself between the lifts and the panting men behind him. The others scrambled up next to him, making a line of wands in defense, and Harry heard the Whalers pulling together behind them. They all braced themselves.

Then the lift’s grille opened, revealing the drawn faces of Kingsley, Moody, Tonks, Lupin, and Sirius, and Harry felt like the world had settled back into place.

“Harry!” Sirius barked and started forward, but Lupin grabbed his shoulder, staring warily past Harry at the men and destruction in the hall behind him.

“It’s all right.” Harry said loudly, speaking both to the Order members and the Whalers behind him. “They’re friends; they’re on our side.”

“Oh good, backup.” Rulfio muttered behind him. “And just in time, too.”

Harry heard Ginny snort, and felt more hysterical laughter itching in his throat. He grinned, stepping to the side and watching as the Order members registered the slumped figure of Voldemort at their feet; watched their faces pale and their eyes grow wide with shock.

“Is that –” Lupin started uncertainly, but Moody just stomped forward, his wand and both eyes fixed unerringly on the prone Dark Lord. Kingsley followed close behind him.

The Whalers drew away, leaving them to it. Harry watched Rinaldo slinging Jenkins’ arm over his shoulder, pulling him towards where Ginny was now resting on the ground, as Daud and the other two walked slowly over to join him, Hermione, and Neville.

Sirius pulled away from Lupin’s grasp and launched himself at Harry, pulling him into a hug that nearly squeezed the air from his lungs. Harry grabbed him back just as fiercely, breathing in the dusty, woody smell that clung to his robes.

Then Sirius drew back and shook him by the shoulders, hard. “What were you _thinking_ , coming here? When Snape said you'd run off..."

“I thought Voldemort had you.” Harry said thickly, surprised at the mention of Snape. He hadn’t thought that the man would…

And the shame was back in full force now. If not for the sheer luck of picking up Daud and his men, the night would likely have ended far less happily. “I saw them torturing you and…I did try to firecall you, but Kreacher said you’d gone!”

“Kreacher is a nasty little liar, and I’m going to skin him.” Sirius said grimly. “But why didn’t you use your mirror? I had mine on me."

Harry stared at him. “Mirror?”

“The two-way mirror I gave you after Christmas.” Sirius frowned at him. “Come to think of it, why didn’t you use it last time you firecalled? I gave it to you so you wouldn’t have to risk this sort of thing.”

Harry stared at him, stunned. “I…completely forgot about that present. I never opened it.”

Sirius stared back at him, looking some strange mix of disbelieving, amused, and exasperated, but before he could speak, one of the fireplaces along the walls flared green. Out of the flames came Albus Dumbledore, his wand drawn and his face set in stern, intimidating lines.

He took two strong, determined steps into the hall and stopped dead. 

“Ah.” Dumbledore said, his pale eyebrows rising slowly to his hairline as he took in the tableau. “Well. I see I have arrived too late to be of much use.”

“Err…actually.” Harry said, and Dumbledore turned to look at him – really look at him, right in the eyes, for the first time in months. Harry reached out and grasped Daud’s sleeve; the man twitched, but allowed it. “We have a bit of a problem here.”

He grinned at Daud to show that he meant no offense by it – he felt like he couldn’t _stop_ , like relief and good cheer kept bubbling up to take him by surprise. Daud shot him a dubious look, one eyebrow raised, but one corner of his mouth curled up, slow and reluctant, and Harry grinned harder.

It was over. They were going to be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was titled "Death Eaters vs Whalers" in my save folder. That's it. That's my entire reason for writing this. 
> 
> (which turned out to be ridiculous, because Stop Time is ridiculous)


	2. simmer down, strike it up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation - because Harry is too young and Daud is too old.

Things got busy in the hall rather quickly.

Harry dodged past Healers, Aurors, and officials as he made his way across the hall. Luckily, most of them had converged around Voldemort – understandable, given the near panic they had expressed when they learned that Voldemort was not actually dead.

“Daud just choked him out. Seems even _he’ll_ go down if he can’t breathe, thankfully.” Rulfio had explained, pulling irritably at something on his wrist. “Though, he should be dead, all the toxin we put in him. Bastard took five sleep darts without falling – and the expensive ones too, not the back alley versions. Say what you want, that’s impressive.”

No one really seemed to understand what the sleep darts contained, so Voldemort had a guard of what looked like most of the Auror department. There were magical shields and magical chains, as well as quite a few artifacts Harry couldn’t identify for the life of him.

Voldemort hadn’t even shown signs of waking up yet, but Harry certainly wasn’t going to complain.  

Beyond that clustered group, Harry could see Dumbledore now speaking to a still-pale and shamefaced Minister. He tried to keep himself from smirking and finally located who he’d been looking for.  

Daud and his men had withdrawn at the Fountain of Magical Brethren – a Healer had reached Jenkins, it seemed, although he looked nervous. Harry supposed it was understandable, as Rulfio and Rinaldo were perched on the edge of the fountain, looming over him like ridiculous, overprotective gargoyles, while Thomas looked on from the centaur’s back.

Daud was off to the side, keeping one vague eye on his men as he smoked something that looked a lot like a muggle cigarette. Harry padded over to join him, coming in close so they could talk over the noise, even though the smoke stung his nose a bit. “Dumbledore said he talked to the Unspeakables. They think they know what happened, so they should be able to send you home soon.”

“Good.” Daud said, and nothing more. Harry might have taken it for a dismissal if not for the way the other man watched him, quiet and thoughtful, out of the corner of his eye.

“Thank you.” Harry blurted, suddenly struck by the realization that he hadn’t actually said it. “For agreeing to help us, I mean. I don’t know if we would have made it, if you hadn’t.”

“What made you come here in the first place?” Daud finally turned to stare at him, apparently unable to hold the question in. “It’s clear you weren’t prepared for the fight.”

“We…” Harry hunched his shoulders. It was true – they hadn’t been. “I thought there was someone here that I needed to rescue. It _seemed_ real in my head, but…well, you saw what happened.”

Daud frowned at him, and Harry remembered who he was talking to.

“I get dreams sometimes – visions of what Voldemort’s doing or thinking.” Harry explained, tapping his scar. It seemed safe, somehow, to explain this to Daud. The man had no concept of his history and likely didn’t care. “It’s like our minds are connected – it’s helped me before, but he used it to get me to come here, this time.”

“Is that normal in this place?” Daud asked him dubiously. “That sort of connection?”

“No.” Harry shrugged. “He tried to kill me when I was little and it just sort of…stuck. No one’s been able to tell me anything about it. It’s never happened before.”

“Seems to me,” Daud said slowly, dropping his cigarette and crushing it against the burnt Ministry floor. “that you'd be better spending less time using this connection, and more time learning about it, so that you can get rid of it.”

Harry blinked, surprised. “I –”

“What will happen if someone kills him and you’re still connected to his mind? Did you never wonder?” Daud interrupted, his voice rolling over Harry in heavy waves. “And even without that, he’s already learned to trick you. Can he learn to possess you, turn you against your allies? Or perhaps he’ll turn you against yourself, instead, and just tear your mind to pieces.”

“All right, all right.” Harry jumped in hastily, his skin starting to prickle. “I get it.”

“You’re not one of my men. I can't order you to look after your own safety.” Daud acknowledged, crossing his arms and leaning back on his heels. “But I’d not stand to have anyone else in my mind, not if there was anything I could do about it.”

“I suppose.” Harry said slowly. “I’ve never _wanted_ to use this...thing. It’s just…it helped me save someone, a few months back. It’s not pleasant, but it has been useful.”

“Useful until it’s used against you.” Daud said sharply, and Harry winced. The man voice softened, nearly imperceptibly. “Get rid of it, lad. Keeping it will do you more harm than good in the long run, I guarantee.”

“Probably.” Harry agreed, glancing over at Sirius with a nearly miserable look. “But it’s the only thing I’ve got that I can use against him. Voldemort’s older and smarter, and better at spells, even if he is crazy. So how am I supposed to beat him, otherwise?”

“Why would it be your job to best him in the first place?” Daud asked, scowling at him distractedly. “You’re clearly not trained for extensive combat.”

“I mean…it’s not my job, exactly.” Harry answered slowly. For some reason, he felt like he was fumbling for the answers. “When he tried to kill me as a baby, though, I stopped him – sent him away for a long time. Even if I didn’t really have anything to do with it, people seem to think I have some sort of…power, or something, over him.”

“So?” Daud stared at him, challenging. “Why’s that mean you need to be the one to do it now?”

“Well,” Harry said, even more slowly. “it’s… since I was the one that defeated him last time, I should be able to do it again this time. No one else seems to have any idea how –”

“That’s bullshit.” Daud told him, harsh and uncompromising. “Unless you’re trying to tell me that, out of the hundreds of men in this room, you’re the _only one_ who could possibly win this battle.”

This, with a pointed look in the direction of Voldemort’s defeated form, made Harry’s cheeks flush. “No, that’s not it! It’s just that people are terrified of him, so they’re going to want me to –”  

“It doesn’t _matter_ what they want.” Daud’s voice was nearly a bark, and Harry saw Thomas turn to watch them. “It’s _your_ choices that matter. Do you want to kill him?”

Harry opened his mouth, then stopped short. He breathed for a short moment, thinking, and his shoulders slumped. “No. I never wanted to fight him. But he always comes after me, or my friends. There wasn’t really a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Daud told him, and the gravel in his voice seemed to intensify. “You can leave, or hide. You can simply refuse to fight. There’s always a way to remove yourself from the situation, and if everyone else is terrified, then that will inspire them to find a way to deal with their problems on their own.”

Harry stared at him. His throat felt stuck.

“And perhaps your choice will be to fight, even if you shouldn’t. Even if it isn’t smart.” Daud’s eyes were very dark, and very steady. “But make sure that it’s _your_ decision, for your own reasons, not because everyone else thinks you should. You’re the one who’s going to live with the consequences, at the end of things.”

“I feel I should remind you both that the man you’re talking about has already been taken into custody.” Thomas said mildly from behind them.

“It’s about more than that, Thomas.” Daud growled at him, but he sounded more tired than anything. “And you know it.”

Harry breathed deep and stared at the mass of people surrounding Voldemort, his thoughts falling over themselves. Five men – fierce, strange, _different_ men, but still only five – had taken him down in minutes. How many Aurors were in the room right now?

“Ah, Master Daud, is it?” Dumbledore’s calm voice broke into their bubble of privacy. They both turned to look at him. “I have just finished speaking with Unspeakable Beckett. He assures me that his department understands the issue. They are prepared to send you back as soon as you and your men are ready.”

Daud gave him a nod, slow and oddly formal. “My thanks.”

“And you have mine,” Dumbledore responded, just as serious. “for protecting my students when I could not.”

Daud blinked and lowered his head slightly in languid acknowledgement. Dumbledore turned to Harry, paused, and then simply said, “I will speak with you soon, Harry.”

Then he strode back across the hall towards the gathered Aurors.

Daud made a low noise – some kind of warbling whistle – that made Harry jump. It wasn’t meant for him, he realized, as the other Whalers looked up and began to rise. Still, when he turned back, the older man was examining him critically.

“Think about what I said.”

“I will.” Harry promised, and found that he meant it.

The others reached them, Jenkins only limping slightly now with one hand on Rinaldo’s shoulder. Rulfio tapped him on the arm, looking at Harry as the others gathered around Daud. “Take care of yourself, kid.”

“Yeah,” Harry said sincerely. “You too, all of you.”

Daud tilted his head, the other three nodded at him, and Rulfio ruffled his hair, making it stick up in all directions. Harry ducked, scowling, and when he looked back up they’d vanished across the hall, reappearing in front of the Unspeakable, who showed no signs of surprise.

Then they entered the lifts and were gone.

Harry wandered back across the hall to where his friends were gathered – Ron was hidden behind the Healers and his parents, but he could see the other four casting him frequent glances. He dropped down to sit with them, thoughts still turning in his head.

“Seriously, who _were_ they?” Ginny asked immediately, staring at where the Whalers had vanished, while Luna peered around her shoulder with interest.

“I...don’t really know, honestly.” Harry answered honestly, and stared across the room at the horde of red-robed Ministry wizards surrounding Voldemort’s still unconscious form. That same something was rising in his chest again, light and loose and _hopeful_. “But I liked them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one checked this over, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know.


End file.
